At the Drop of a Hat
by Clevingerrr
Summary: When the Scout gets a rare drop during an arena match, his teammates get a bit To what lengths will their greed make them go? Written for the Steam User's Forums Twenty-Nine Pipes contest,
1. Chapter 1

It was a typical evening in the Central Badlands Sawmill, which meant a downpour of rain, muddy paths, and two rival mercenary teams vying for control of the abandoned building. Setup time had begun, giving both Reliable Excavation Demolition and Builders League United a reprieve before the fighting commenced. Although the setup period existed to give each mercenary a brief sense of security and calm, it only served to make them jumpier and more desperate to fight. To the Administrator of both teams, it was a win-win scenario.

Setup was drawing to a close, and the RED Scout was huddled around the starting gate with his teammates. He had been on edge for the past five minutes. Even with a survival-oriented loadout of a Scattergun, a bottle of Mad Milk, and his trusty baseball bat, he never quite captured that feeling of invincibility some members of his teammates shared. Often, he masked this uncertainty with a cocky attitude and a loud mouth.

"Alert!" an authoritative female voice shouted over the Sawmill's intercom, "Mission begins in thirty seconds!"

"Alright, men!" the Soldier exclaimed. "Time to show these blue-wearing pansies a thing or two about real battle! Medic, Heavy, Demo-" he pointed towards the three mercs- "I will charge the point directly with you and draw their fire! Engineer and Sniper will stay back and pick off targets, and Scout and Spy will lure stragglers away from the point! This is a good plan, is it not?"

A few half-hearted nods of agreement came from the remainder of his team. The Soldier's chest swelled with pride, knowing that his work to increase his support from "a couple of hat-fetishist mercenaries" to "a few hat-fetishist mercenaries" had paid off.

"Mission begins in ten seconds!"

Each member of RED readied themselves in front of the gate. They had a plan to win, and even if it was mediocre, it brought greatly-needed structure to the battlefield.

The Scout carefully placed the milk bottle into his pocket and shoved his bat into his pouch. This was it. No more mucking around with cart pushing or briefcase capturing; this fight would only end when everyone on BLU was dead.

"5! 4! 3…"

His ma would be so proud of him, not running away from fights like he used to as a kid! "2!"

Maybe he'd even get trophy! Not one of those crappy plastic trophies, either: a trophy carved from 100% australium that you only see movie stars carry!

"1!"

Just then, a large felt object collided with the Scout, knocking him off his feet and into unconsciousness. 

When the Scout started to come to, he could make out the voices of his teammates getting into some kind of argument.

"Dammit, boys! We can't give up just because Mister 'I'm-so-scrawny-that-mysterious-wool-objects-can-h urt-me' had a heart attack! I say we charge the point before BLU finishes-"

"And I've been telling you, Herr Soldier: ve cannot hope to launch an attack when zey both outnumber us and hold ze sawmill! Ze safest plan vould be to vait for Scout to wake up." An awkward silence followed. "Also, it is felt, not wool."

"Bah! Fine, we'll wait this one out. But don't come crying to me when Gordon Lightfoot starts creeping around our back stair!"

"Gentlemen," an irritated voice joined the fray, "if you would please stop squabbling and look down, you'll find that we no longer have an issue."

Slowly, the Scout lifted his eyelids to see what the commotion was all about. Everyone on RED was standing around him in a circle, clenching their weapons in preparation for the round. When he moved his arms, a large, light brown, furled object rolled off his chest and onto the ground.

"Ah geez," the Scout muttered. "Okay guys, how long was I out?"

The Engineer shrugged. "Probably a minute or two, son." Picking up the mysterious item, he handed to the Scout. "Looks like you got hit with some kinda shirt or something."

"Crap, was this one of those stupid drops again?" Furiously, the Scout began to unravel the object. "I keep tellin' those Mann Co. chuckleheads, I don't want any of their…"

When the Scout had finished, he was dumbstruck. The mysterious felt object was a tan reporter's fedora, complete with a black brim and a card labeled "PRESS" stuck in the side. The name "Gerre" was scribbled on the inside tag with black marker, covering up the "one size fits all" disclaimer printed on it.

Eagerly, the Scout donned his new hat, feeling pride that his first drop in weeks didn't suck. "Oh man! This is so freakin' cool! I look like a freakin' newsboy or photographer or something!" Grabbing his scattergun, he began to wave it around like a stack of newspapers, saying, "Extra! Extra! You're freakin' dead!" All the while, he was laughing obnoxiously.

While the Scout was enjoying himself, his teammates other than the Spy and Engineer stood transfixed, their mouths agape at the first sight of the fedora. When the Scout had finished parading around, he turned around to find his teammates staring at him. Or, rather, staring at his head.

"Uh…you guys alright?" the Scout asked, feeling somewhat uncomfortable from the looks he was receiving.

The envious members of RED suddenly regained their focus, and stopped gawking. "It's nothing, lad," the Demoman quietly replied. "It's just that…the hat you're wearing…it's _beautiful._"

This was failing to make the Scout feel any better. "Um, yeah. Thanks."

"Mmmph mmph mmph mmmmmph," the Pyro added, "mmmmppphh mmph mmph mmph. Hudda hudda huh!"

"Yeah, I didn't really catch that one."

"Heavy would kill entire armies for that hat."

"I would dismember another hundred krauts just to _feel_ that hat…"

"Alright, seriously now," the Scout said, feeling less uncomfortable and more annoyed than before, "don't we have some BLU's to kill? Or, did you guys knock 'em dead when I was out?"

The thought of killing woke the Soldier up from his hat-based fantasies. "Scout's right!" he shouted in his normally loud tone. "We have a sawmill to capture, and we have less time than ever to do it!" Waving his arm towards the RED spawn exit, he shouted, "Ten-hut! Men, move out! Last one alive, lock the doors!"

The Scout ran out first, happy to bat some heads in. Although he couldn't see them he could almost feel his teammates staring at his head on the way out.


	2. Chapter 2

It took two ubercharged pushes, several baiting attempts, and a lucky crit from the Demoman, but the BLU team had been completely expelled from the Sawmill. The RED team had lost their Engineer in the process, but it seemed like a necessary sacrifice to the surviving mercenaries.

"Besides," the Soldier exclaimed to his teammates after their victory, "it's not like he would mind dying for the cause! He can't even mind, anyway! He's dead!"

The Scout gazed around the muddy landscape with pride, unaware that his contribution to the battle was wasn't as important as he thought it was. True, he had lured an unsuspecting BLU Soldier to his death in RED's sentry nest, and he was the one who coated the remainder of the opposing team in the mysterious fluids of Mad Milk, distracting them long enough to allow a surprise attack on the Sawmill. But, his inflated ego wasn't the only thing making him feel good today. His new source of pride came from the newman's fedora on top of his head, which he never even got close to losing throughout the entire fight. Every time he leaped around in the struggle, one of his hands would inevitably go to the hat, readjusting it to be angled perfectly.

The Scout was also unaware that, while he was looking around on top of the Sawmill's roof, one of his teammates was creeping up behind him, carrying a large and conspicuous box with him. Suddenly, the Scout felt a sharp jab in his back.

"Augh! Holy crap, who the hell did that-"

He turned around to find that his assailant was none other than the Soldier, placing a chained-up crate on the roof.

"Wait, Soldier? What are you doin' here?"

"Oh, me?" the Soldier asked, forcing a smile. "I just wanted to cut you a deal, Scout! A new deal! A square deal!"

The Scout scratched the back of his head nervously. The last time one of his teammates offered him a deal, he ended up with laundry duty for an entire month. "Uh…sure. What is it?"

"Right here," the Soldier turned the Scout's attention toward the crate, "is a Mann Co. Supply Crate. It's full of wonders: weapons that track your kills for you! Cans of paint! Even special hats!"

The Scout considered it for a moment. Having more hats was always a bonus around RED, and some more weapons never hurt. "Alright, yeah, that sounds pretty awesome! Can I take yours?"

The fish were biting, and all Soldier had to do was reel in his prize. "Oh, I don't know, Scout…maybe for something _rare _and _valuable_." A few seconds of silence passed, and when the Scout gave no response, the Soldier probed further. "Maybe something _on top of your head…_"

"On top of my head? The hell do you – oh, wait, I got it! You mean this!" The Scout pulled off his hat, and the Soldier outstretched his arms, eager to claim his prize…

…Only to have a bottle of hair gel dropped in his hands. "There ya go!" the Scout beamed at the Soldier. "A bottle of Baseball Bill's Sports Shine! I didn't think you had much hair, but hey, I guess crew cuts need gellin', too!" The Scouts smacked his hands together and walked towards the crate. "Now, how about that box of yours?"

Feelings of anger and dismay welled up in the Soldier. His hands shook, his forced smile dropped into a scowl, and his teeth were grinding one another. He was being played for a fool! Not only that, but the _Scout _was playing him for a fool! The yellow bastard knew what he was talking about, and was only acting naïve so he could slink away with his hat intact!

The Soldier involuntarily crushed the bottle in his hands, feeling the residue slip between his fingers. With the ferocity of a pit bull tearing into a steak, he grabbed the Scout roughly by the shoulders and turned him around.

"So, you want to play hardball, do you, you acrobatic asshole?!"

"What the hell are you doin' Soldier?" The Scout hadn't seen the Soldier this angry since he got rejected from serving in Vietnam. For the third time, that is.

"Well, your ass has cashed checks that are about to bounce!"

The Soldier shoved the Scout onto the ground, whipping out a rusty pickaxe and swinging it wildly in front of him. The Scout, still in shock from the Soldier's outburst, rolled out of the way barely in time to avoid the axe. Pulling the sharp end out of the rooftop tiling, the Soldier gave a menacing battle cry and ran after the rolling Scout. The pickaxe swung again, and again, and again, each swipe getting more crazed than the next.

The Scout continued rolling away from the Soldier, his heart beating louder and louder every time the Soldier would try to hit him. He kept spinning, hoping that he would slide off the roof and into safety.

Suddenly, he hit what felt like a gutter, killing all of the momentum he had been building up. He turned around, only to see the Soldier gaining on him, yelling at the top of his lungs all the while. With nowhere else to turn, the Scout looked around for any kind of weapon he could use.

"I WANT THAT HAT!" the Soldier screamed, "AND YOU'RE NOT LEAVING THIS ROOF TILL I GET IT, TWINKLETOES!"

The Scout felt around in the gutter, desperate for anything sharp or heavy. "Come on, come on, come on…" he muttered, sweating all over his once-clean uniform. He could feel the Soldier's rumbling footsteps less than ten feet away from him, and his right arm circled around the inside of the gutter even faster than ever.

Suddenly, his hand felt a decent-sized rock lodged in the gutter. It was a poor choice for a weapon, but it was better than facing down an axe-wielding madman with nothing. The Scout pulled on it, dislodging it from its resting place, and readied his throwing arm.

The Scout counted his paces carefully. "Five feet away…four feet away…three!"

He hurled the rock at the Soldier's forehead, and the projectile zoomed away at breakneck speeds. The Soldier barely had time to react before it smashed right into his noggin, sending him onto the ground in pain.

"Augh…" the Soldier groaned, clutching his bleeding forehead helplessly. The combined speeds of the rock with his own sprinting caused enough damage to render the Soldier dazed and confused.

The Scout would've felt a little bad for his teammate, if it weren't for the fact he was nearly murdered by him a few seconds ago. The Scout maneuvered around the roof back onto the ground, feeling safe and sound for the moment.

For the moment, that is.


	3. Chapter 3

Throughout the scuffle, the Soldier and the Scout were being watched by one of their own allies. The Pyro, as elusive and indescribable as ever, had set his sights on the Scout's new hats the moment it revealed its true form to the bedazzled RED mercenaries. Contrasting with the blunt and direct strategy of the Soldier, the Pyro was focusing her time on creating a trap.

Having set up an ambush spot near the right side of the Sawmill, the Pyro waited patiently. All he needed was the Scout to cooperate; unlike the last guy, she had brought something that would interest the Scout much more than a measly crate. In fact, he was surrounded by Mann Co. Supply Crates that her teammates were trying to dispose of.

The Scout had been jumpy since the fight, and he had been holding his hat tighter than before. Somehow, his hat had set the Soldier off, and eventually his teammates would find out that he was the one who knocked the big lug out.

The Scout darted across the Sawmill's side path, taking care to not step too much on the creaky wood of the bridge. "Alright," he muttered, "if this hat pissed off the Soldier, maybe I should take it off." His hand reached upward, gripped the brim of the hat…and stayed there. He _wanted _to pull the hat off, but he couldn't. "I can't! It's just so cool! I mean, what other hat could look as cool as this?"

This was the Pyro's chance. Igniting the beanie in his hands, she ran towards the Scout eagerly.

"Hout! Hudda fidda huh!"

The Scout turned around to see none other than the Pyro, holding a smoldering beanie in the air.

"Hey, mumbles! Couldn't understand ya, but – woah!" For the first time since this morning, the Scout had seen a hat as impressive as his own. "Is that what I think it is?"

The Pyro nodded enthusiastically. "Mmphual!"

Of course, it was merely an unwanted beanie set ablaze by the Pyro's flamethrower, but it looked like an unusual to the naked eye. It might not last too long under the current conditions, but it had to fool the Scout just a little longer.

"Well, nice unbox! Hope you like that!"

As the Scout began to walk away, the Pyro ran in front of him, pointing back and forth between their hats energetically. "Hmour mmor mmi!" it said.

The Scout, normally unable to understand the Pyro, got a vague idea of what it was trying to say. "Wait, you want to give me your unusual for my hat?"

The Pyro nodded again, although this time she was more impatient. The beanie was starting to fall apart, and its propeller had already been reduced to a bent piece of melted plastic from the flames.  
"Geez, I dunno. I mean, I'd be getting to much more from it than you! It wouldn't be fair, you know?"

The Pyro shook his head, taking care to conceal the fact that the entire top of the beanie had been burnt to ashes. "Mmmph! Mmmph!" it replied urgently.

The Scout scratched his hair nervously. "So, uh…does that mean you know, and you don't care?" The Pyro nodded more, giving him the confirmation he needed. "Yeah, why not? It'd keep Soldier off my back for a while!"

The Pyro pulled his hands out from behind her back, presenting the "unusual" beanie to the Scout for trading.

"Okay, what the hell is this? You tryin' to scam me or something?"

The Pyro looked down at its hands, and discovered to its horror that the beanie was now a smoldering pile of ashes. The plan had literally fallen to pieces!

"That isn't an unusual, is it, chucklenuts? You were tryin' to pull a fast one on me, huh?"

Well, if cunning wasn't going to do the job, brute force could always do the trick.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, you mute-freakin'-moron!"

The Pyro pulled an axe off the wall of a nearby shed, and charged at the Scout. The Scout sprinted as fast as he could towards the side Sawmill entrance, hearing the muffled cries of the Pyro behind him. He was almost there, he could lose the arsonist around the bend…

…Suddenly, as he turned the corner, he ran into a stack of boxes. The once-neat pallet of crates collapsed, dropping a number of heavy boxes all over the floor. He tried to move, but several crates were crushing him, leaving him defenseless as the Pyro approached!

"Ah crap!" The Scout shouted, desperately pushing the first crate off his chest. Two others had trapped his legs, and he pulled with all of his might to get free. The Pyro was getting closer, closer, and he still couldn't move!

"Stand back, ya fire-blowing devil!" shouted a familiar Scottish voice. The Scout turned his head, and lo and behold: the Demoman was standing in front of him, wielding a shield and a claymore sword. The Pyro seemed to back up a little, no doubt remembering how useless his flames were against the shield. "Your little tricks are done! You won't be harming this wee one!"

The Scout breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh my God! Thanks a ton, Demoman! You saved my ass!"

With his good eye still focused on the Pyro, the Demoman kicked both of the crates trapping the Scout aside. "No problem, lad. Want me to deal with this one?"

"Um...yeah. Otherwise, he's gonna kill me."

"Of course," the Demoman continued, "I could always use some compensation for my skills. I _do _get paid to kill people, you know."

An eerie sense of familiarity washed over the Scout. He had started to tiptoe towards the exit once the word "compensation" had been uttered. "Yeah, I'm a little short on cash right now, so maybe later I'll pay you…"

"Oh, I don't need money, lad. I could always use a new piece of headwear-"

"NO WAY!" the Scout shouted. "I am not giving you, or mumbles, or Major Dickface up there my hat!"

The Demoman satisfied smile dropped. "Aye, you can be that way if you'd like." He faced the Pyro once more. "How's about a deal? We both get the Scout, and then swap the hat every week?"

The Scout bolted away as fast as his legs would allow, just as the Demoman and Pyro began their newfound partnership in killing him for a measly hat.

He dashed along the former BLU spawn, running up its stairs onto the rooftops of the nearby structures. His breaths were getting more and more labored, and he was feeling exhausted from the sheer amount of running and dodging he had done just during the skirmish. Just he when he stopped to take a breather, the Demoman and Pyro had already climbed the stairs. The Scout kept running, feeling his chest cramp as he continued to push through his lack of energy.

He lept over the fence, landing neatly on the RED side of the mill, when he felt a rope wrap around his left leg. Before he could turn around, the rope pulled, flipping the Scout onto the muddy ground again. Standing above him was the Sniper, pulling on the bullwhip wrapped around the Scout's leg.

"That hat belongs in a museum, mate!" he shouted.

"What the hell do ya mean?!" the Scout shouted back, twisting around in a vain attempt to escape the Sniper's grasp.

The Sniper smirked. "I mean my backpack, obviously. Now, are you going to a good little bugger and throw me your hat, or am I going to have to force it off you?"

He pulled on the whip once more, turning the Scout around and disorientating him once more. "I could do this all day!" he said to himself.

Suddenly, the drenched and still-bleeding Soldier dropped down from the rooftop, still sore from the head wound and incredibly angry. "Attention, you no-good camping bushwhacker! This hat belongs to ME! Same goes for the Scout's ass, which I WILL KICK!"

As the Soldier reached for the fedora, the Sniper pulled the Scout closer to the fence. "I'm warning you, mate: this is my trophy! I caught him fair and square, and you aren't taking him without a fight!"

The Scout was dazed, confused, and stuck between two enemies. As he reeled from the continued struggle with the Sniper's grip, he tried to reach for the last weapon he had at his disposal.

The Demoman and Pyro charged off from the BLU entrance, positioning themselves to the left of the Soldier. "Just a minute, you wee lasses! We got a bounty on this one's head!" The Demoman scratched his head and added, "I mean hat. We're taking his hat, and you aren't leaving without a fight even if we get the hat!"

"Not so fast!" The Medic shouted, suddenly jumping out from the pile of Mann Co. Supply Crates nearby. "Ze Heavy and I are getting zat hat! Ve vill give our lives for zat beautiful headwear!"

As their arguing continued, the Sniper hopped down from his perch, and his grip on the whip slackened. The Scout's eyes widened, and he quickly untangled it from his leg. "Hey wimps, catch this!" he yelled at his oppressors, pulling the bottle of Mad Milk from his bag. He hurled the glass container at the arguing mercs, splashing them with the mystical and mysterious fluids inside. The argument quickly broke up, and they recoiled in horror.

"Bloody hell! This isn't _milk_!"

"Heavy feels dirty…"

"Ach! I did not ask for a sample!"

"Dammit! This is my favorite uniform!" The Soldier licked a drop coming off his helmet. "What sort of sour cream is this?"

The Spy emerged from the Sawmill, yawning. "Gentlemen, might I ask what the shouting is about? You know, it is three o'clock in the morning, right?"

The Soldier directed his anger at the Spy. "This is not time to be idling about, Spy! We are at war! Again!"

"War?" the Spy asked, "with whom? We just fought BLU off the premises."

"It is ze Scout!" the Medic added. "He von't give us his hat!"

The Spy was even more confused than before. "So…you are fighting the Scout…for a hat worth less than two dollars?"

"Yes!" the hat fetishist mercenaries said in unison.

For a moment, the Spy was dumbstruck. Then, he let his frustration out. "Are you telling me that you were too _incompetent _to even consider going to the market, or maybe creating a hat of your own like his?!"

The Soldier's enthusiasm faded. "Oh," he muttered, "I guess we never thought of that."

"If you could have put even a fourth of that effort into the fight, the Engineer might still be alive, and we might have all gotten our own hats! Have you even thought about that?"

The Sniper doffed his hat in embarrassment. "Croikey, I feel kind of bad now."

The Medic nodded in agreement, saying, "Herr Spy has a point. Ve let our emotions get in ze way of our teamwork." Addressing the remainder of the team, he declared, "From now on, ve must put our thoughts of clothes aside for our fights! No longer vill ve mistreat our friends like ve did to poor Scout!"

"Agreed!" the Heavy said, "we will talk about hats no more!"

"Mmmph mmmph mmph!" the Pyro said, jumping up and down with excitement.

The Scout sighed with relief. "Thanks, Spy. You came right on time!"

"Wait, do you think that was for you?" the Spy asked with surprise. "I'm just trying to get some sleep!"

The joyous celebration was cut off abruptly. A large box fell from the rafters of the Sawmill.

"Incoming!" the Spy shouted, leaping out of the way just as it crashed onto the ground.

When the dust had cleared, all 8 mercenaries gathered around the mysterious box. "This isn't a box, Spy!" the Soldier said, "this is a crate! I've got dozens of them in my apartment, and they're all worthless!"

The Scout eyed him with suspicion. "Wait, weren't you trying to buy my hat for one of those 'worthless crates?'"

"Um….no! That was an, um, unusual vintage limited edition Mann Co. Crate!" The Scout was still eyeing him. "It's worth 500 earbills!" he added.

The Spy carefully looked over the packaging of the crate. "It says, 'To: Spy. Thank you for solving a problem I could not. Signed, Miss Pauling.'" Pulling a key out of his pocket, the Spy inserted it into the lock, turned it, and watched as the crate's contents emerged.

A beautiful gray bowler hat bathed in purple energy was positioned on a pedestal inside. It glowed with such brightness that it almost required sunscreen to be around it. With trembling enthusiasm, the Spy pulled it out of the crate.

"Fantastic!" the Spy cried. "I'm rich! I can retire early, and stop fighting for these godforsaken badlands!" His thoughts turned to old fantasies of living on the Islands, and getting away from the double-crosses and close calls of espionage.

When he looked at his teammates, though, they shared the same envious look they once held when the Scout obtained his hat. They all began to walk toward the Spy slowly, one step at a time. The Scout was already feeling uncomfortable being around them. "Uh, Spy?" he asked, slowly pushing him away from the advancing crowd. "You might wanna get moving on those retirement plans…"

"Wait!' the Spy said, desperate to keep his teammates in line, "What happened to teamwork, cooperation, and no hats?"

The Soldier snickered, drawing his pickaxe as the other mercs pulled out their own weapons. "Unusuals happened, son. Are you going to hand that over, or are we going to beat it out of you?"

The Spy clutched his unusual hat closer, and vanished in a cloud of smoke. All of his teammates, excluding the Scout, desperately chased after him, hoping to strike it rich once more.

The Spy was never heard from again…


End file.
